Bad Ideas (First & Forever 4)

“Same. When we turned twenty-one, Eden and I started hanging out at a sports bar in my neighborhood, but we were never big partiers.”

She turned to study my profile. “Speaking of your best friend, are we going to talk about why you picked up an extra shift on your birthday? Because that looked an awful lot like you were trying to avoid spending time with him and your brother.”

“I see them all the time. In fact, tomorrow they’re making me brunch.”

“But you didn’t want to see them today, did you? Was that a birthday gift to yourself?”

I sighed and told my friend, “You’re way too perceptive.”

“It’s a gift.”

She was waiting for me to say something, and finally I admitted, “Okay, yes. You’re right. I didn’t want to spend my birthday smiling and pretending to be happy about the fact that my best friend and my brother are a couple, and I’m now a third wheel. I’m really sick of feeling like this. They got together two months ago, so why can’t I just accept it and move on?”

“Gee, I don’t know. Maybe because it ripped your heart out when your best friend, who you’d secretly had a crush on for years, fell in love with your younger brother instead of you? That had to hurt like hell, especially since you’d always thought Eden was straight. But no, he just didn’t want you.”

“I feel so much better now,” I muttered. “Thank you for that.”

“I don’t mean to be insensitive. But I think we need to drag this out into the light and call it like it is, you know? That’s the only way you’re going to move on.”

“You’re right. I feel like such an asshole, though. Eden and Seth mean everything to me, and I really am glad they fell in love. They’re so happy now, and that’s exactly what I want for both of them.”

“Of course you do,” she said. “But at the same time, it’s okay to admit it hurt when Eden didn’t pick you. It’s even okay to admit you’re jealous of your brother.”

“I don’t want to be like that, though. It’s not who I am.”

“No, you’re always Mr. Nice Guy. I know you pride yourself on being this cheerful, easy-going person. It’s why everyone loves you, including all our patients. But you’re allowed to have some negative feelings, Casey. You were hurt when Eden and Seth got together, even though you love them. It was always the three of you, for more than half your life. Hell, you even moved out here from St. Louis as a trio, that’s how close you were. It doesn’t make you a bad person to admit you’re a little pissed off now.”

I shook my head. “I’m not pissed off. I was at first, but I got over it.”

“Well, it’s okay to feel sad and lonely then.”

“You’re making me sound pathetic,” I grumbled, as I slowly pulled into the short driveway of Yolanda’s hot pink Victorian. I had to get the front of my old Honda Civic within an inch of the garage door, because if any part of it stuck out over the sidewalk, it was sure to earn me a parking ticket.

When I cut the engine, she sighed and handed me one of the plates. “Sometimes you’re such a guy.”

“What does that mean?”

“You know—that you feel you have to hide your emotions, or god forbid you might look weak.”

“I don’t do that,” I insisted, as we climbed out of the car.

“No, definitely not.” The note of sarcasm was unmistakable.

When we reached the bottom of the stairs, Yolanda’s girlfriend opened the front door and called, “Welcome home, you two.”

Josephine Deveraux was a tall, full-figured, platinum blonde bombshell. She’d told me once that before she came out as transgender, she’d been as plain as a church mouse. Now, she was a retro glam goddess who was currently dressed in a red silk nightgown, matching robe, and fuzzy pink slippers.

She was also one of the kindest people I’d ever met, and she adored her girlfriend. Whenever Yolanda worked a swing shift, JoJo waited up and greeted her with a hug, a kiss, and a big mug of herbal tea. Talk about relationship goals.

I slipped by them as the hugging and kissing commenced and went to the funky, pink and purple kitchen at the back of the main floor. I had a total of five housemates, and one of them was sitting on the counter eating peanut butter out of the jar with a large serving spoon.

Lark was a cam boy and kept odd hours, so it wasn’t surprising that he was still up. What was harder to explain was the fact that the twenty-six-year-old was dressed in a unicorn onesie. It included a fabric horn on the hood he’d pulled up over his shoulder-length, bleached blond hair.